


the light you shine

by IndianSummer13



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26321140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndianSummer13/pseuds/IndianSummer13
Summary: He’s loved her since the first trip they took in the Land Rover.He only allows himself to fallin lovewith her when she tells him she regrets nothing..Companion piece to Tiny Earthquakes
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 19
Kudos: 101





	the light you shine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece written to go alongside 'Tiny Earthquakes'. It's not essential that you read that one first, but things will make more sense if this is read afterwards.

She makes his tea just the way he likes it: strong, but with plenty of milk; two sugars and  _ not  _ that awful sweetener that makes his teeth hurt. She buys biscuits always, and buys the really good ones - the ones with milk chocolate - for special occasions like working on a weekend and working late on a Tuesday and working with a hangover.

Sometimes, Strike finds himself saying things like  _ I thought we were being good _ and then cringes at implying there’s a  _ them _ in anything other than work.

He wants there to be a  _ them _ , that much is certain. But Robin? He doesn’t know what Robin wants.

After they’ve shared a packet of the chunky cookies he favours (and by shared, he means a 70/30 split) he slips up. Again.

He’s been slipping up  _ a lot  _ lately.

“This Lush shop, would they have anything Ilsa would like?” he asks. Robin’s hair really  _ does _ smell delicious, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to buy his friend for her birthday if not bath products he personally has no use for.

“Probably. Why d’you ask?”

“It’s her birthday next week and I’ve bought her wine every year but obviously -”

“- She’s pregnant,” Robin nods. 

“Feels like wine might be inappropriate.”

She smiles her smile and his heart does that annoying swooping thing that he doesn’t want to think too much about.

“I can come with you if you like,” she offers. “Help you fend off the shop assistants.”

Strike grins and hides it with a swig of tea. “You saying I can’t handle them?”

Robin shrugs and sips from her own mug. “They’re pretty persistent.”

_ Yeah, _ he thinks. But he’s pretty used to persistence these days.

-

They go to The Tottenham for drinks after work. They often go to The Tottenham for drinks after work these days, safe in the knowledge that Matthew isn’t going to keep calling and angrily ask when she’ll be returning home; safe in the knowledge too, that Lorelai won’t be burning his dinner in the oven of her flat.

The topic of conversation is almost always the cases they’re working, but tonight they’re discussing Nick and Ilsa, mutual friends now, and their recently-announced pregnancy. 

Robin, having made light work of her first glass of wine is a little tipsy, her flushed cheeks and shining eyes giving her away. Every so often she slurs a word or two and tries to cover it up, but he knows she knows he’s spotted it.

“It’ll be a girl,” she argues good-naturedly against his declaration that the Herberts will have a son. “I bet ten pounds that it’ll be a girl.”

Strike laughs. “Fine. You’re on.”

They shake hands across the table and he tries not to enjoy how soft and delicate her fingers feel against his.

-

Robin is drunk. Strike has no real problem with this, other than she now has to navigate a journey home which includes two trains and a longer-than-he’d-like walk from the station to Nick and Ilsa’s flat in Wandsworth.

“It’s only two trains Cormoran,” she tells him. 

Sometimes she gets mad at him for worrying. Tonight, her tone is much lighter, like she’s reminding him more than anything.

“Exactly,” he decides aloud. “Only two trains back once I’ve seen you home.”

He takes the fact that she doesn’t put up a fight as her acceptance and they head towards the station at a pace slow enough that his leg doesn’t ache too much. 

When the tube pulls away from the platform, Robin loses her balance and tumbles into him, colliding with his chest and making him regret the third pint. Sudden movements on a stomach full of gas never do anyone any favours.

He steadies her of course, his hand at the small of her back, and when the guy standing opposite looks at them Strike hopes he assumes they’re a couple. Not taking any chances, he doesn’t drop his hand until they disembark, and he tries to hide the wince of pain when they climb the steps out of the station.

-

Between the station and Nick and Ilsa’s house is a Lebonese restaurant, bookmakers and an Italian place with a fading sign and red and green fairy lights in the window. He doesn’t realise how hungry he is until he smells that unrivalled aroma of garlic and meat, and makes an executive decision that they  _ both _ need to eat something.

“What’re you doing?” Robin asks, fighting with a gust of wind that picks up her hair and blows it across her face. 

That hair.

Strike  _ loves _ that hair.

“Stopping you from getting a terrible hangover,” he says simply, holding the door open for her. “Can’t promise it’ll stop you getting one completely though.”

“Cormoran -”

“- Don’t argue Robin,” he cuts in before she can protest. “I’m starving anyway.”

The waiter brings them water and two bread rolls, both of which he eats when Robin declines one in favour of the spinach and ricotta cannelloni she’s ordered. (A waste, if anyone were to ask him, given that it doesn’t include meat) 

They eat in a comfortable quiet and Strike finds that he’s too hungry to care about devouring his spaghetti and meatballs in a polite manner. His partner doesn’t seem to mind anyway, passing him her napkin with a smile once he’s cleared his plate and discovered that his own square of cloth has dropped to the floor.

-

They reach Nick and Ilsa’s front door and all he knows is that he wants to kiss her.

(He’s wanted to kiss her for a damn sight longer than just tonight)

“You didn’t have to do this you know,” Robin says in that gentle way of hers. 

“Just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

She makes no effort to go inside and instead, reaches her hand out towards his chest. They’re standing closer than they usually do and he can smell that new shampoo of hers. She smells like a rose garden.

His heart is fucking  _ thundering _ and he wonders whether she can feel it as she steps closer still and curls her fingers inward.

“Thank you,” she says. Her voice is quieter than usual, almost like a whisper. 

A bus roars past and Strike’s heart feels like it’s beating in his throat. She’s watching him look at her. At her lips. At her eyes. 

At her lips again.

He draws her in by her elbows and she’s on her tiptoes when they kiss.

Even in all of his fantasies, he’d never imagined her lips to be this soft. The wind blows her hair so that it lands against his face and he smells that new smell again. It makes him smile. He feels rather than hears Robin make a noise at the back of her throat: not a moan, but more like a sigh of pleasure as she folds against him. 

She fits perfectly.

When they part, she’s smiling back. Strike clears his throat once and then again. “Night, Robin.”

His eyes are shining and her voice is a little breathy when she replies. “Goodnight.”

-

The taxi back to Denmark Street is torturous. Rather than satisfying a need he’s had since she first drove him in that Land Rover, Strike finds that their kiss has ignited something immense and inextinguishable inside of him.

He pays the driver via the app on his phone and thinks of Robin. He climbs the stairs laboriously and thinks of Robin. He takes off his prosthesis and falls into bed and thinks of Robin.

The following day, she’s in the office early. On her desk there are two overpriced coffees in cardboard cups and a brown bag with grease seeping through which smells like it houses a warm danish pastry. 

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning.” 

They’re being careful and this is what he’s been afraid of. 

“How’s the hangover?”

Her smile is small but it’s there. “Not too bad, considering. Think the food helped.”

Strike nods because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Look Robin, last night. If that wasn’t what you wanted then I’m sorry for being a -”

“- Cormoran -.”

He continues. “ - making an ass of myself when -”

“- Cormoran,” her voice is gentle but insistent. “I  _ did _ want it.”

He looks up from the floor to find her looking at him. She steps closer and he can smell that scent of roses again. She’s washed her hair.

His hands find Robin’s elbows and her palm find his chest and they fit just as well as they had the previous night. 

“You don’t regret it?” he asks.

Her lips are gentle when they press against his and his heart swoops when she says, softly, “I regret nothing.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always greatly appreciated.


End file.
